


A Little Help

by whatabadchoice



Series: Tuesdays [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, hotel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 15:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatabadchoice/pseuds/whatabadchoice
Summary: Dean does what he’s always done in times of need. Whether it was when his dad was in a way or when his sister Jo went off on her brazilian jiu-jitsu tour, he calls Bobby.





	A Little Help

**Author's Note:**

> You should definitely read the other parts before this one if you haven't. It won't make sense otherwise. Aaaand I make no excused. Idk, I don't have much inspiration. But I'm committed to ending this thing right.

SEPTEMBER 18TH

Dean does what he’s always done in times of need. Whether it was when his dad was in a way or when his sister Jo went off on her brazilian jiu-jitsu tour, he calls Bobby.

Uncle Bobby wasn’t his dad’s brother, not really, but he _was_ an important figure in Dean’s life. They served together in ‘Nam and when John, Dean’s father, had been alive, he’d often made Jo and Dean stay with Bobby during the longer “hunting” trips he went on. 

“What d’you need now?” Bobby had answered. Dean never should have convinced him to get caller ID. He winced. Asking for help wasn’t especially Dean’s forte and years in the corporate bubble had given him financial liberty, but only to a certain extent. A full month after having tried out different interviews and imagined what the rest of his life might look like, he’d finally bit the bullet and called him his uncle. 

“I don’t _need_ anything!” Dean had protested half-heartedly. “Can’t a guy call up his uncle once in a while?”

“Sure, but boy you ain’t called this house since the week Jo left on her big adventure and you started working for the hellhole you love so damn much.”

Dean winced harder.

It took patience. And a lot of grumbling on Bobby’s part, but finally Dean was able to convince the old man that he needed help at the garage. And boy, did he need help.

The “garage” as such was mostly a scrap yard. Bobby had driven his employees up the wall and out the door with his bad attitude, which meant the actual workspaces had fallen into disrepair. Since he didn’t really need the money, Bobby hadn’t bothered trying to upkeep the yard. Instead, he accepted old cars whenever they came and let kids scavenge and buy whatever they could find. It was a mess.

The first day Dean came in, Bobby told him to stick to the garage and not mess with his stuff… Three days later, Dean had put the garage in order, cleaned… everything, and, ignoring the old curmudgeon completely, started to deal with the cars out back.

Dean was thankful for every boring ass hour spent earning his ridiculous salary at Sandover because it meant he could actually invest a lot of it in Bobby’s business. The bones were good. With no upkeep, Bobby had still managed to keep a decent scrap clientele alive, which was impressive. A few flyers up in the nearest town and business started to slowly trickle in. Castiel was a huge help in that department. He didn’t talk about it much, but Dean figured out pretty quick that he had had experience in the domain.

The hardest part was getting Castiel to accept the help Dean was offering.

It was nearly impossible.

With the commute out to Bobby’s, whose scrapyard was outside the city, and all the long hours Dean was putting into this new project, the last three months were difficult to say the least. Castiel’s stubbornness didn’t help. But they managed. It was a hard adjustment though, especially when Castiel refused Dean’s money and insisted on working at a gas station to make ends meet.

But Dean has a plan.

It had been three months. Castiel said his boss was warming to him, and his hours were becoming more regular at the gas station, which meant he had more time to visit his brother. Things at the salvage yard were finally stabilizing too, though there was still a lot of work to do. For the first time in a long time, Dean feels like his leadership skills are finally making a difference.

It’s after another long day at the garage that Dean comes home to find Castiel on the couch. It’s rare. He barely let Dean buy him one, his small studio apartment a little cramped at this point. When Castiel isn’t at work, he’s usually at the centre, visiting Samandriel. It must be one of Castiel’s rare days off. And today is the day Dean tells him about the plan. So, despite the sore muscles and the fatigue, Dean kicks off his boots and goes to sit by his roommate.

He’ll never get tired of the way Castiel’s shoulders relax when he nears him. As if just the smell of Dean is enough to ease at least some of the worry Castiel carries every day. 

“Heya Cas,” Dean says, already cozying up to his roommate.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies. After three months, he’d finally gotten rid of the Mr. Smith habit. Well, outside of the bedroom.

“You smell… odd,” Castiel says, frowning. His nose wrinkles and he pushes Dean back from where he was burying into Castiel’s side. He looks Dean in the eyes, concern painted onto his face. Dean takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’ve got something to tell you,” Dean says slowly. Castiel’s eyes widen for a split second, a flash of red sparking behind the blue, and then he composes himself just as quickly. He shakes his head. Dean frowns, but ploughs on. “So you know how you’ve been helping out at Bobby’s when you can, right?”

Castiel hmms in agreement, his hands coming up to pet at Dean’s stomach. He’s not really listening.

“Well,” Dean continues, taking Castiel’s wandering hands in his own. “Bobby and I were thinking…”

Castiel’s eyes snap up immediately.

“No. Dean. We talked about this, I can’t.”

“Wait a second let me finish!”

“I don’t need to, you _know_ that I can’t take any risks right now. You know that without Dr. Wesson’s recommendation and his connection at the centre, they would have never let him stay during the second month when the money ran out! You know I need the insurance! I can’t be gallivanting off into some new business venture with no guarantees!” Castiel took his hands away and folded his arms.

Dean sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, annoyed.

“You haven’t even heard me out,” he says, letting the hurt scent roll over him, mentally pushing it towards his stubborn partner. It was a dirty trick, but Dean hadn’t missed the authoritarian tone in Cas’ voice either.

It was Castiel’s turn to sigh, closing his eyes for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Alright, tell me.”

Dean shot up from his seat immediately, grabbing the ancient filofax Bobby and him had been working on.

“Okay, here,” he said, plopping the filofax onto Castiel’s lap and taking another deep breath.

“Please turn to the first page of the document and you’ll see the guidelines for part-time employees at Singer’s Salvage. Now--”

“Dean, I told you, I can’t do just a part-time position. I would need much more than is equitable for you and Bobby to pay. I’d much rather our current agreement in which I help when and where I can, all the while keeping my current stable employment. This isn’t a judgment on your business model, I just…”

“Cas. Shut up for a second, okay?” Dean interrupted, hands on his hips. Castiel seemed to fight himself for a moment, before deflating and nodding silently.

“I know about you. I know about everything,” Dean continues. Castiel looks like he wants to add something, but Dean holds up his hand. “Later, Little Alpha, I’m not finished. Listen, okay, I know how to use google. People don’t just know about marketing strategies and demographics. I knew something was up. So I started digging.”

Castiel makes an indignant noise at this, but Dean can smell the panic in the air. He crouches down so that he can hold Castiel’s trembling hand.

“I’m not here to throw that in your face, ok? I know about hurting people. I know about disappointing them. And I know how scary it can be to feel like you’re going back down that same road. But, Cas,” Dean puts his hands on either side of Castiel’s face, “you’re not. You’re not that person anymore. You’ve got me. You’ve got Wesson. And Nurse Moore. And most importantly you love Samandriel. The fact that I had to make a goddamn presentation to convince you to come work for me should tell you that you’ve got your priorities completely right. And I’m not here to ask you to change them.” Dean grabs the thick stack of papers and flips to page 14. 

“Look,” he says, thumbing the page and turning it around for Castiel to read. “This is the prospective employee contract. Ten hours a week, with possibility for more hours. The pay is shit. No insurance. But I checked with your manager at the Gas n’ Sip, Cas… She says the minimum weekly hours to qualify for insurance is 28 hours. And fine, ok, that’s probably a lot of hours total, but I made projections. I’m not as good with the numbers as you are but we consulted this guy Ash, calls himself the badass or something, whatever, it’s not important. He said if we got someone part time to better handle the books, we might have a really viable business. He even gave us the name of a graphic designer in the area. Ash was saying he’d bet big bucks that we if we focused on the classic car restoration rather than everyday garage aspect, we’d find ourselves a nitchy market.”

Dean had prepared a whole speech. It was supposed to be clear and well-thought out, and articulated… He knows he was babbling, but he’d worked so hard and knows this could work for both of them.

Castiel is silent for a while. Then:

“It’s pronounced niche. A niche market.”

“Right.”

“And I’d need to be able to have flexible hours. You know the centre has certain visiting hours.”

“Okay… Cas, are you saying yes? Is that a yes?” Dean couldn’t help but let the excitement into his voice, his scent.

A tiny, tentative smile starts to creep into the corners of Castiel’s mouth.

“I’ll have to read the contract before I can sign anything in good conscience.”

“Of course. Would you like a lawyer to look over it?”

“Dean, that won’t be necessary,” Castiel says haughtily, having the gall to roll his eyes.

“My mistake,” Dean replies loftily. Dean’s knees crack as he gets up to return to his seat beside Cas. Before he can get comfortable, however, Castiel is already getting up.

“I have to read this properly,” he says distractedly, moving to the kitchen, where a small table folds down from the wall. Dean smiles to himself. Well, that’s good at least. 

Castiel pauses halfway across the room, turns completely around and walks back towards Dean. He kisses him on the lips, lingering a little longer than probably necessary, and whispers, “thank you, sweetheart.”

Three months in and Dean still can’t get enough of this man.


End file.
